


Assassin's Creed: Amaryllis

by Weskron



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate History, Apples, Assassination, Death, Depressing, Finland (Country), Horsemen, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Inspiration, Melancholy, Original Character Death(s), Other, Pieces of Eden, Poetry, Robert Frost, Sad, Snow, Travel, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weskron/pseuds/Weskron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old assassin has many miles to go before he sleeps. But he may be forced to make the journey alone. (AU, Original Character)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assassin's Creed: Amaryllis

_“Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad.”_  
_― Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_

**November 27th, 1939.**  
**Soviet Union-Finland Border.**

A slow moving figure begins to move through the forest and near the Karelian Isthmus in Finland, near the Soviet Union border. He is dressed in all white, as is the fur of his horse, only the brown leather garments they both wore as well keeping them from completely blending in with the snow. The man is speaking slowly, his accent bearing a resemblance to a French-Canadian one. His horse moves in slowly, his attire coming into view. He is not as white as once thought after all. He wears a white hood, a white bandana, white goggles with red lenses, a collared shirt, and a tight brown duster coat, black gloves, and black snow boots.

_“Whose woods these are I think I know._  
_His house is in the village, though;_  
_He will not see me stopping here_  
_To watch his woods fill up with snow...”_

The man turns his horse named Dusk out and to the right, riding down a pathway he had just found. He nods his head slowly, petting the horse’s grey mane lightly. It has been with him for very long.

_“My little horse must think it queer_  
_To stop without a farmhouse near_  
_Between the woods and frozen lake_  
_The darkest evening of the year...”_

The pair begins to move through the forest, days go by, nights seem to never appear, and they continue on through the snowy landscape, trying to find some symbol of civilization anywhere in sight. They continue on, occasionally eating and drinking, but saving the rations for last.

_“He gives his harness bells a shake_  
_To ask if there is some mistake._  
_The only other sound's the sweep_  
_Of easy wind and downy flake.”_

The rider and his horse settle in a cave. Methodically and meticulously, the rider pulls off the saddle and his supplies off the horse, allowing it to rest and settle down in the cave. The rider, recognizing the situation, begins to take the food and water out of his bags and feeds it slowly. The horse seems content as it eats the last of the borscht they had brought with him.

The rider pulls out something surprising. A single red apple, the wax finishing on it still bright and shiny. As he polishes it off with his coat, he cuts it into four slices with the hidden blade on his wrist. He knows Dusk likes it more when you feed an apple to him in smaller slices. So he does, and the horse eats it slowly and happily, the rider petting his companion of thirty one years sadly.

And as he finishes his apple and lays his head down, the horse never has felt so warm by a fire in his life, and he never brings his head back up, an eternal slumber washing over the animal. The rider nods slowly and pulls his bandana down, revealing a greying and icy beard. He kisses the horse on his head, petting the ever-resting steed, knowing he’s in a better place now.

_“The woods are lovely, dark, and deep...”_

The rider looks at his horse, grabbing his knees now, his eyes turning to the fire slowly flickering out. Tears begin to well up in his eyes and he turns to the scene out of the cave. Snow-covered trees as far as the eye can see. He realized how tired he was. One could almost fall asleep to this site... for a very long time.

_“But I have promises to keep...”_

The man takes all the ammo from his long-gone companion’s pouches as well as anything he could need, putting it in the pockets of his coat and the pouches on his belt. He shook his head lightly, rustling the snow and ice on his hood. He picks up his rifle.

_“And miles to go before I sleep...”_

The man, once known as a master assassin, walks out of the cave, now alone in the cold, dark world surrounding him. He looks out onto the landscape, holding his rifle in one hand and pulling his bandana over his face.

_“And miles to go before I sleep.”_

So he continues ever forward. Knowing he still has work to do before he can give into that everlasting weariness. Before he can sleep.

**FIN.**

**Author's Note:**

> This was a very emotional story to write. I wrote it mainly to help myself get over the loss of a loved one. If there's a heaven out there, there's no doubt about it she's up there dancing amongst the stars.
> 
> Love you, girl.
> 
> Thanks,  
> Sam.


End file.
